Grimes

2015 made for an intriguing year in music and culture. From the drab mystery that is Trump to Oxford’s word of the year, the line between the joke and the genuine is no longer the dichotomous divide it once was (e.g. the new and improved Bieber condition).

I came to feel as if the city was only vaguely aware of its party brand, possibly, even, in denial about the true nature of it, as if choosing to perceive the inexhaustible art scene as some sort of “accident” or “coincidence.”

There are those titans of our music-listening devices, the artists we’ve listened to so many times we’re embarrassed to tell anyone just how many (126 listens to Lauryn Hill’s “I Used to Love Him”? Am I diseased?).

The job of an interviewer is difficult: how to extract humanity from a person who spends hours being asked the same questions by dozens of people? How to get them to share something they wouldn’t share with any of these other people?